


Sunrise in Antiva

by moodymarshmallow



Series: My Dear Warden [5]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:54:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodymarshmallow/pseuds/moodymarshmallow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theron's preference for mornings is even more prevalent in Antiva.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunrise in Antiva

When Theron woke, he suddenly understood Zevran’s complaints about the weather in Ferelden. Though the sun had yet to rise, the heat and humidity was so oppressive that the air in the tent was stale and Theron was plastered, sweaty and overheated, to the bedroll. Zevran was wrapped up with him like a clingy blanket, which, while endearing, did little to make the temperature any more tolerable. If this was what Zevran was used to, no wonder Ferelden seemed cold by comparison.

****

Theron untangled himself, ignoring thick-tongued murmurs of  _come back to bed, mi amor_ , and _dancing is later, now it is time for murder_ , the latter of which he suspected meant that his lover was talking in his sleep. He smiled as Zevran hugged the blanket, and kissed him on the forehead as he crawled out of the tent into the pre-dawn hours of Antiva.  
  
Everything was different here, even more than it had been in Amaranthine, which, while being far from the areas that Theron was familiar with, was still in Ferelden. The sun seemed hotter on his skin, as it had taken only a few days of travel for him to break out in freckles and sunburn. Elfroot helped, but he had to eschew his normal armor for long trousers and white linen shirts to keep the sunburn from getting worse. Zevran, on the other hand, seemed to soak up the sun like a cat. He was as energetic as ever, his tan deeper, and his hair lighter.   
  
They met up again in the Free Marches, in the city of Kirkwall, at a filthy tavern known as the Hanged Man. Zevran’s letters were right: it  _would_  have taken sharp razors to keep them apart. Despite the questionable food, bad ale, and lack of sanitation, they spent a week in a room together, barely coming up for air.   
 ****  
But Kirkwall was uncomfortable for Theron. It was far more closed in than Denerim, and once the glow of reunion passed, they headed north to Antiva. They were on the outskirts now, between Rialto and Antiva City, near enough to the coast to see the water. They were due to arrive in Antiva City proper within two days, where they had an audience with a party that was interested in seeing the Crows removed from power. It could be a trap, of course, but Theron and Zevran were more than prepared. Theron could finally handle a dagger less like a hunter and more like a Crow, so he wasn’t completely useless without his bow, and Zevran, who had taken down two assassins and their men without him, was more than prepared.  
  
The wind from the east was cool, bringing with it sublime relief as Theron’s temperature dropped a few degrees. The mornings came quickly here, but they were worth watching. He had never seen sunrises like the ones in Antiva. It was as though the sky was determined to capture every hue of orange and red, and do so in such a short period of time it was dazzling.   
  
As the sun began rising, Zevran stumbled blearily out of the tent, settling behind Theron with an annoyed grunt. “Stop this nonsense and come back to bed.” He laid his warm head on his shoulder with a long, sleepy sigh.   
“It’s too hot,” Theron said apologetically, not that he wouldn’t be up anyway, but at least he had a good excuse this time. He was still sweating, his long hair plastered to his neck and shoulders.   
  
Zevran sat up and, with a deft, fond touch, untied the leather cord from Theron’s messy, damp hair, combing it down with his fingers. “We must find an apothecary for your burns, I think,” Zevran said with a yawn, glancing distastefully at the peeling skin on Theron’s back. He began to tightly braid his hair, getting it out of his face and off the broken, red skin.   
  
“We’re a days walk from Rialto already,” Theron said as he tilted back his head. “Antiva City is at least two, as you said. We’ll be late to meet our contact if we go back.” He closed his eyes to the gorgeous sunrise, blocking out honey-yellow clouds on the bloody sky so that he could focus on the tug and release of Zevran’s fingers in his hair. Sometimes they could be damn near domestic for an archer and an assassin.   
  
“There are villages between here and Antiva city. One of them will have an herbalist.” Zevran looped the braid around itself and tied it, the result wasn’t perfect, but it would keep Theron cool. “Now, back to bed with you.”   
  
“Sorry,” Theron said, taking the offered hand and kissing it lightly. “I’m staying up.” Zevran grunted again and slumped against Theron, resting his chin on his shoulder.   
  
“I do not know how I put up with you.”   
  
“It is a wonder.” Theron laced his fingers with Zevran’s as he wrapped his arms around his stomach, Zevran leaning forward to rest all of his weight against Theron. “Just think of how much sleep you’d get without me. Less sex, but lots more sleep,” he said, teasing.   
  
“A trade-off, to be sure.”   
  
Zevran dozed while Theron watched the sunrise, both a little too hot to cuddle, both a little too foolish to let go.


End file.
